


The Prayer

by TheOutgriber



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 22:10:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOutgriber/pseuds/TheOutgriber
Summary: Not long after the events of the Season 3 finale, Grace decides it's time for a brief audience with the Man Upstairs.





	

Grace lurked in the wide sanctuary doorway for a few seconds longer than necessary.   
Then, adjusting her purse, she genuflected stiffly. Maybe this was a bad idea. But she took a few steps in, heels echoing hollowly on the stone floor. Empty, save for a dejected-looking Christ hanging at the front. Perhaps she should’ve come here sooner. Weekly. Not just that time when Phil--no, this was not a good time to think about Phil. Of course, that had been her fault. She knew better. 

Either way, Phil was not the purpose of this visit. This was about doing the right thing. She squared her shoulders and made her way to the front third of pews, taking a seat directly across from the altar. Something about the hardness of the pew was bracing. She sat up straight to pray, eyes open. 

“Hello, God. Uh, it seems I have some business with you, Sir.” Frankie would roll her eyes at the androcentric language. Whatever.   
“First of all, I’d like to apologize for not coming here more often. I...I got carried away with living and...took some wonderful things for granted. I should’ve paid more attention. To You.”   
Well, that last part sounded a bit off. Why was that? Oh well. Moving on.   
“Second, I want to thank you again for making sure that Frankie was okay after she had that...incident. And for giving me the opportunity to apologize for frightening her.”   
Her face burned at that admission, even more than when she’d practiced it silently in the car. Get it together, Grace...   
“And, I guess, thank you for sending Nick into our lives, so that I could give her that balloon. But I guess that means I’m grateful for the divorce, after it all, because that’s how I got Frankie.”   
That was ironic. There was more to be said there, more to think through.   
She moved on instead. “I just want to ask, please, that you keep her healthy and...make sure she takes her vitamins in Santa Fe, and give her a safe trip, and...I want her to be happy. That’s all.”   
Was that sufficient? The Christ sculpture seemed unimpressed.   
“Please, I’d--” She cut herself off there and glanced around. This was no place to fall apart. She took a breath and clasped her hands together like she had as a child. “I’d do what it takes to keep her happy. I’ll say Hail Marys every day, I’ll go to confession--” That was probably not enough. She’d made that bargain before with mixed results. What else would God want from her? What could balance the scales after all this? Would anything be enough? Yes. Anything.

Her heart squeezed, like it was outgrowing her chest. Like she’d felt in the balloon. This was a little bit like how she’d felt with Phil, but not--. But this wasn’t how she was supposed to feel, and not in a church. She shook her head at herself, swallowing down the knot in her throat. 

“Anyway I’m grateful again,” she said, trembling, “for the time we have had, though I wish we had more time. Why can’t Jacob just stay here?” Petulant. Grow up. Focus.   
“I know we had years and I just wasted them. I don’t know what I’ll do without her, but I need you to give me the strength to be okay with this, I--” Her voice broke.   
“Because I love her, Lord.” Too much. Shit. Fuck. Oh God. Oh Christ.   
“Well what the hell’s that supposed to mean? Is this a joke to You?!” she gasped, louder than she’d meant it. She clapped her hands over her mouth.   
“Oh no. Nonononono. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whispered against her hands, locking them back together in spite of the pain. Yelling at God drunk on the beach about the dissolution of a sacred contract was one thing, but this? In the Church no less. What was wrong with her?   
Her phone rang cheerfully, and she jolted, scrambling to silence it. Frankie’s face popped up on the display. Grace’s heart leapt, but her gut twisted with guilt as she rejected the call. How was she managing to do everything wrong?   
The bells for afternoon mass began to ring. Knowing she was about to have to move, she took a breath and gathered up her thoughts; she needed to put them away for a while. She stood. “I’m going to have to cut it short...Amen,” she said, deciding to leave it at that.   
She smoothed down her clothes, wincing at her aching fingers, then sidled out of the pew and started back down the aisle.   
At the doorway, she paused. Turning back to the altar, she half-genuflected with a muttered “Same time tomorrow?” and walked out into the day. It was time to get back to Frankie.

**Author's Note:**

> Grace needs a hug. And progressive theology. And possibly cognitive behavioral therapy. Please review!


End file.
